Believing Isn't Everything
by KatieTheFanGirl
Summary: When I was a little girl I heard stories of a man. And over the years I stopped believing that he existed. Then one day, he came to prove me wrong


When I was little, I remember my mother telling me stories that her mother told her. And my grandmother's mother told my grandmother. Stories of a man who never ages. Who aided people in need. And for years, I believed in him. This man called the Doctor with changing faces. I believed it with every ounce of my being. Then one day, it just stopped.

I remembered I was talking to my friends, and they asked why I was always drawing his blue box. So I told them the story. They immidiately thought I was crazy and left. That day, I realized it was just a stupid fairytale my mother told me and her mother told her and her mother told her. Stupid fairytales that are meant to put me to sleep and give me false hope of a better future in time and space.

You know how when you read a book, you believe in it? Like, maybe you believe Hogwarts is somewhere out there right now, or than Hazel Grance Lancaster is mourning the death of her love Augustus Waters. And you get false hope. You hope and pray it's real because you can't bear to not have it be. Because you love it so much

I almost forgot about those stories. As time went on and third grade passed, along with every other year, snailing past me, leaving me to wonder what I am going to do.

One time in sixth grade, we had to write about a random story we made up. So I typed on the school computers a small short story about The Doctor. Then I forgot again, because it was painful to remember. Then, after school was done, and I was in college, was when it really happened

The day I believed in the Doctor again

My alarm clock goes off as always, and I groan, not wanting to get up, but the shrill beeping pierces my ears with each note and I can't help but think if that's how I sound while singing. Probably. I'm terrible at it. I get up and pull myself into the shower. Five AM. At this time, not a lot of people are up, but I am. I get up at five, do my morning routine, then catch a bus to the tube, then make my way down to the University. I live in a flat with my mum, who is asleep at the moment in her room.

I was my pale skin with the lavander scented soap, then lathered my hair in vanilla shampoo and conditioner. I turn off the hot water which for the past fifteen minutes had provided my aching muscles relief. I grab a fluffy white towel and dry my skin off, then wrap it around my body before stepping out. I wrap another, smaller towel around my short brown hair and then go to the sink.

After a few minutes to let the fog that had accumulated there die down, I started to wash my face. I rinsed off the soapy bubbles and water from my face before I take my aqua coloured tooth brush and start to brush my teeth, which is a habit I need to get back into desperately. I go out, back to my room, holding the towel in place. Now it is 5:27 AM and I am on track so far.

I get into my bra and underwear while I look around for something to wear. I eventually pick out a simple cream coloured sweater and black leggings, then pulled on my boots and sat down at my vanity.

After doing my make up quickly and brushing and drying my hair, I sat there looking at my reflection.

My hair is choppy and a little above shoulder length, and a deep dark brown. My eyes are this hazel/green colour that I don't really like but I don't mind. My face is round yet long at the same time. I'm short. Like, 5 feet 2 inches short. My nose is small and somewhat pointy and my ears are small as well, but luckily aren't pointy and make me look like an elf who makes delicious stripped cookies in the middle of a tree.  
How unsanitary though. I mean, what if I eat a millaped? In the middle of my taste buds orgasming over the delicious taste of the chocolate cookies, there in the middle is a nice, crunchy insect. Mmm, protien.

After a bit, I get up and I grab my bag. By now, it is 5:42 AM and my mother is up. She is groggy though. I look nothing like my mother, mainly for the fact I was adopted at five months old when all I knew how to do is suck on my toes and make gurgling noises.

She's tall and a little chubby, with long blond hair and bright blue eyes. I had a dad once, but he died when I was 13. Long story I do not really wish to recall.

"Morning" I say as I pass her. She isn't a morning person unlike... are there actually morning people?

"Mornin'" she says, going to the bathroom and closing the door.

I go to the kitchen and quickly make her coffee and me tea. Another difference between us. She prefers coffee over tea as I love to have a nice cuppa in the morning to relax me before a stressful day at uni. When she comes in, we sit at the table for a few minutes, while the moon slowly dips away from the inky sky.

I love this time. Just sitting there with my mother, warm mug in my hands. The silence was warm and held a million conversations about millions of topics. I love it more than I can even put into words.

It's my safety blanket. The silence. I love it for some strange reason, because in our flat, it is never awkard. It is always the perfect blanace of love and peace.

At 6 AM exactly I get my stuff, kiss my mother's cheek, and leave.

I open the door and I am greeted by the cold November air, biting into my cheeks. I brace the cold and push through to the nearest bus stop, getting into the white vehicle as soon as it pulled to the curb. I pay for my trip and sit down, reading a book while waiting. Classes start at 8 and I get there early to talk to my friends. You know, the ones who don't think I am insane from second grade. The bus stops and I get off, saying a mumbled 'have a nice day' to the driver.

I walk down the stairs and wait for the tube. When I hear it, I get up from my bench and watch it pull in. Not many people got out, but many get in. I sit down at a seat around mid way point of the car, reading while the train trugs along. I love the tube for some reason. It's just nice I guess.

I check my watch. 6:29. The train pulls into my stop and I get up, walking out and to the university. When I get there, I go to the dorms and collapse on my mate's top bunk. Ya see, I don't have any money to pay for a dorm, but my friend does. So when I want, I will stay in the dorm. My friend has this rich father who got rick from selling books about Ancient Egypt. I could stay full time, but I'd miss my mother. And there is the fact that after having Ramen Noodles every day for a week, you start to get sick of the soup.

My best friend has been my best friend since we were very little. Like, preschool little. I love her to bits like a sister. We even got sister photos done together when we were in dance. Her name is Rachel. She is short and pale, like me. She had this wavvy black hair that'll curl some days. Her voice is beautiful but raspy at the same time, and she can sing very well. Her eyes are green and she has freckles. I collapse, hoping for another hour of sleep.

"Mornin' Kenya" she murmured.

My name is really McKenna, and I prefer Kenna. But when I was little, I apparently thought that it'd be fun to be Spanish, so I said Kenya. Name has stuck ever since.

"Morning Rachel. Now shut your face and let me sleep a few extra minutes" I murmur into the pillow. I cover myself in the blankets and undulge myself in sleep.

I know you are probably thinking: When is she going to get to the good part? All in good time. At this point, I didnt even know what was special about that day. Dont worry. This is actually an important part. You need to know that i had a completely normal life despite the stories I was told as a little girl. Because it all changes, trust me.

Morning classes go through and me and Rach go out for lunch. I drive her car, listening to P!nk the whole way back to my city. We get there and go to Wendy's, getting a few things. I buy three spicey chicken sandwiched with no tomato and get a large lemonade, a medium frosty (chocolate duh), and an order of large fries. THis seems like a lot, but it isn't for me. I love my food more than I love my red heels. And I love those heels.

We go to my house and set the food up on the coffee table. My mother is at work now so I dont have to worry about her coming in. We turn on the TV and watch while eating.

I dip my salty fries in the cold, sweet ice cream and smiled as I chew because it is a combination made it heaven. Like Peanut Butter and banana. Yummy.

We talk about everything and nothing, mostly about last night's episode of Britan's Got Talent.

"So what do you want to do?" Rachel asks me

"Dunno" I reply and take another bite of my second spicey chicken sandwich and look at her.

"I gotta go to a quick thing for my mum" Rachel informs me and ruffles my short hair, then walks off.

I grin and finish my food, then go to cleaning up. I go to my room and pick up the book I had read last night. I walk into the living room, and see something in my window. I walk over and the book falls from my hands, the pages crumpling.

_Him._

The man I swore not to exist and his blue box.

In a trench coat, spiky hair, blue suit, and a grim expression, he looks up and me and makes brief eye contact, before going into his box and disappearing.

The box literally disappeared.

I blink and assume it was a hallucination, but still, when I go to pick up my book, I find myself closing it, leaving the pages crumpled, and I put it on my bed. Then I go back to the living room, before going back to the university, swearing I had seen that man...


End file.
